


destroy me

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Choking, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Impact Play, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Transman V
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: Johnny's grip tightens on V’s hip and he nods toward the neat little container of V’s vice sitting out-of-place on the shelving at the foot of the bed. His eyes follow Johnny’s nod readily, and the hunger in them is undeniable. It sets a smirk just so on the rockstar’s lips.“You want it. I can see.”V tears his eyes away from the drug, trying to ignore the automatic calculations filling his head of just how easily could intoxicate himself clear out of his own mind, instead trying to study Johnny’s eyes through the mirror of his sunglasses.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Male V
Comments: 17
Kudos: 162





	destroy me

**Author's Note:**

> cock, cunt, hole, folds, pussy (briefly) used for v
> 
> consensual guided drug usage and sex while under the influence

“You’re a real piece of work, y’know that?” V grits around his cigarette. A presence shifts behind him, lurking like an intrusive thought. That’s all he really is.

“Ease up, princess,” Johnny sneers behind him, “you don’t have room to talk, smashing drugs the way you are at every chance.” The judgement is laid on thick, the words curling over his teeth like his lips pulled back in a snarl. The animosity is heavy between them, and it makes the agitation burning under V’s skin even hotter.

“Yeah, but at least I’m not thinking pinning someone down and fuckin’ ‘em stupid every second—”

“What, are you a saint, suddenly?” Johnny says, smoke thick in his mouth as he speaks through a drag off his own cigarette. His presence is as suffocating as a room of smoke, filling V’s lungs and stealing his breath and making his head spin. The rockstar leans forward, off the window sill, and points his cigarette at V like a brewing accusation. “Not like you’re any better about that. I see every thought that runs through that head, kid. You’re not as  _ pure _ as you like to act.”

“Just leave me alone,” V growls, scrubbing a hand over his face. The last thing he wants to think about is how privacy doesn’t exist for him anymore. Between the abrasive comments every time steps into the shower and every time he has to fight to use the latrine alone, this constant mind-reading takes the cake.

“Done already?” the other man jeers, “I’ve seen scrap parts stronger than you. All bark?”

“Fucking sick of this—” V hisses beneath his breath, flicking his half-smoked cigarette into the alley beneath his apartment, “just  _ five minutes  _ alone _.”  _ He’s bristling, shoulders drawn up tight and nostrils flaring as he glares daggers at the other.

“Do all drugs make you that easy?”

V blinks at him. Abject mortification sinks in alongside his frustration easy as parched soil takes up water. Johnny’s eyes are forever-unreadable beneath those sunglasses, but his lips are pursed as if he was holding something back. V sighs snd pulls the window halfway, doing his best to ignore the other man. Maybe that will dissuade him from reading his memories like a book.

He doesn’t understand Johnny’s fixation on his occasional drug use. Maybe because lately it was stronger than what he’s done before, or just different, but the constant comments are starting to gnaw on his nerves like rats on wires. It’s been just the two or three times, but Johnny hasn’t dropped it. The black lace hasn’t even been the strongest substance V has abused, and he’s gone to greater lengths to get high in his past. Prior to him straightening out. Or trying to, at least.

“Don’t get your panties all up in a bunch,” Johnny scoffs, flickering to the couch as V throws himself onto his bed with an arm over his eyes, “you act like you haven’t wanted a good look at—”

“I don’t want to think about your dick.”

“It’s only fair.”

Sitting up just to throw an incredulous look at Johnny, he loses track of his voice.

“Are- are you saying—”

“Showed you mine, show me yours,” Johnny says with that smug smile V could only wish he could punch off. Blinking, dumbfounded, he tries to process it. “Getting high’s gotta make you want to. I see how easily you bend over for a fix when you can’t scrape up the money.” 

Admittedly, it brings heat to his face in his embarrassment, but it’s quickly drained with anger.

“Quit combing through my memories like a porn site, you sick fuck,” V spits, laying back down. He can feel the other man’s eyes rove over his legs where they hang off the bed, and he draws his legs together and closed.

It has been a while since he’s gotten off, and even longer since he’s hooked up with anyone. With a couple of his old plug’s numbers saved, he always finds himself with his finger hesitating over the button. As much as he wishes that he could leave Johnny in his apartment and get fucked in privacy without the parasite commenting on every little thing, he knows that it’ll just tag along and sour the night.

“You’re thinking about it.”

_ “Shut up,”  _ V sighs. His cheeks burn at the false accusation. It’s hard discerning their individual thoughts sometimes, seeing as both of them are subject to external stimuli at the same time. Sometimes Johnny’s reaction morphs into or completes V’s, and he doesn’t know who is actually responding to a situation. Similarly, sometimes he doesn’t know who owns what thoughts as they drift through his head. An upsetting reminder of his impending future.

On occasion, the thought of Johnny in unsavory situations have arisen, although he wouldn’t be too surprised to find out that it’s just his headmate being a perverted guest and injecting those thoughts into his mind.

“That what you think of me?” Johnny says, feigning betrayal with a gasp, “I’m hurt, sweetheart.”

“Cut the shit,” V says with great exasperation, keeping his face tucked beneath his arm to at least attempt to hide the embarrassment growing across his cheeks at the pet name, however condescending. Johnny isn’t soft—all hard edges and abrasive personality. That’s partly why V hasn’t just put a bullet through his head. Despite the complexity of their situation, of all people, V can get along with someone who's just as blunt and coarse as he is.

“That’s right, you aren’t like that,” Johnny says, arms slung over the back of the couch as he puffs his cigarette, “not into the sweet names or making  _ love.”  _ The word is spat with scorn, followed by a handful of laughter.

“Whatever you’re trying to get at, Johnny, it’s not gonna work,” V says thinly, trying to ignore how he’s been taken apart and teased.

“I just know what I’ve seen,” Johnny purrs, voice dripping with self-confidence and an ego ten sizes too big for the apartment. The hand on V’s chest twitches against the fabric of his wife-beater, focusing on everything but the fact that Johnny’s insistent teasing has started to coil a knot of arousal in his stomach.

It really has been too long since he’s gotten off.

“So you gonna jerk off, or what?”

“You don’t get to watch for free.” An attempt to reclaim control over the situation. To bite back at Johnny’s heels, take some ground. 

“But you’re saying I  _ could _ .”

“Freak.”

“I know you can be meaner than that, V.”

Vague arousal mingles with his frustration as readily as blood in water, no doubt thanks to Johnny’s meddling. At least he’s able to conceal it from the headmate as much as is possible when sharing a stream of consciousness. It makes V clench his teeth. 

“Fuck  _ off _ .” One last desperate attempt for all of five minutes he would need for his release. Then he’d be tempted to be slightly more accommodating to Silverhand. 

“Lacks creativity. Anything else?”

The grinding of his molars resounds in V’s sinuses. Johnny is an absolute hound, stopping at nothing for a chance to snap at whatever scraps of attention—positive or negative—that his host is willing to give to him. It’s easier to just submit. 

“You want to watch so fuckin’ bad? Fine,” he finally snaps. One of his fists is balled tight in the comforters, trying to drag V back to the reality of the situation; he doesn’t need to be encouraging this kind of behavior. The other snakes down to the soft fabric of his sweats, subtly granting himself some friction as he does so. 

“Looks free to me.”

“You want me to stop?”

“No, by all means. Go ahead, V.”

“Perv.”

It earns him a halfhearted laugh from the rockerboy as well as a renewed intrigue set in his brow. V even gets him to retire the practiced aloofness, sitting up and planting his elbows atop his knees. 

“Just gonna tease me? Show a little skin.”

V doesn’t even dignify it with a response, just huffs as he shifts to hike the sweatpants down his thighs. He’s already let it get this far, what the fuck does anything matter now?

Even through the sunglasses, he can tell that Johnny is greedily drinking in the sight of his bare thighs, first where the waistband indents the softer flesh, up to his cock standing proud. Ashamedly, he’s already dripping, arousal inflamed by Silverhand’s interference. 

“No panties?” Johnny notes with a wry smile stretching his features. V can only glower as he moves to work his sweats off, too fixated on getting off and praying that Johnny isn’t going to start making this a habit.

“You’re a dirty old creep,” V bites through clenched teeth, throwing his sweatpants off to the side before allowing his thighs to splay open. The words only seem to excite the rockstar further, as his grin sharpens and he starts to neglect the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. 

“You get off getting called a sick freak?”

“Maybe.” Johnny’s voice is lower, distracted.

Shakily, V breathes in relief as he finally gets his hand on himself, just two fingers splitting to squeeze the short length of his cock between them. It causes him to involuntarily flex his hips up into the stimulation, cock throbbing as weeks of no contact come to a head. Then he presses the two digits into the root of his length, pulling the hood back before lightly pinching again, reveling in the gut-deep pleasure.

“You've done this before, haven’t you?” Johnny says slowly. The insinuation that V’s whored himself out before makes his cheeks burn hot with mortification, and before he can bite something out, Silverhand is leaning back with a quirked eyebrow, continuing. “Yeah. Shown off that pretty little cunt of yours for a fix. Bet you could get anything showing off a hole like that.”

Swearing under his breath, he squeezes his eyes shut tight as his cock pulses and he feels more slick drool from his cunt. Rubbing his length and rocking his hips into the motion, he’s quick to work himself close.

“That... the nicest thing you can say?” V says, struggling to remain collected as he jerks himself off. Braced on his elbow with his knees hanging over the edge of the bed, he knows he’s got himself on full display, and that Johnny is relishing the sight.

“You don’t want me to be nice,” Johnny says easily, self-assured as he finally drags one last time from his cigarette, “but fine— bet your pussy is worth a hit of black lace.”

“Just one?”

“For the show. But if you’re lettin’ your plugs hit it for a fix...” the rockstar says, trailing off as he watches V spread himself open. Seeing as they had come from a stance of pure reluctance and need, to have V stumbling into the territory of letting Johnny have a go at him is a surprising turn. But he's never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Quit gettin’ your hopes up, old man,” V breathes, trying to scrounge together enough confidence in him to keep a handle on the situation. Every time he tries to find a comfortable foothold, stealing back some of Johnny’s dominance, he knows exactly what needs to be said to make his stomach twist up in knots and his heart to flutter like a stupid groupie.

“You’re sweet, thinking you have a choice here,” Silverhand chuckles, and it’s a deep, rolling sound that sends a shiver down V’s back, “stupid junkie like you doesn’t get a say. If I want you on my cock, you’re going to take it like a good joytoy.”

“Shit…” V puffs under his breath, brows furrowed as his hips buck in stunted movements, drawing too close, too soon. He feels wired, every word Johnny says like electricity and every rock of his hips like sparks in his stomach.

“You’re not allowed to cum yet,” Johnny says, and his voice is firm. He knows that V will listen to him, too desperate not to, even if it prolongs his release he’s been frantically working himself towards.

With a growl, V all but rips his hand away from himself, grinding against the air and glaring at Johnny as if looks could kill. His cock throbs uselessly, edged so close to finishing that it almost hurts. Despite it, he offers no leeway, no true show of submission. All he provides is an agitated huff. Until Johnny opens his mouth again.

“Spread yourself open.”

So quick to heed his orders, V tentatively avoids his aching cock to spread his cunt open. He feels the rivulets of slick freely dripping down his ass and making a mess of the bedsheets. And he knows Johnny sees it. If just to tease, he shallowly dips two digits into his hole to drag more slick out, showing off.

“If this is how lazy you are,” V tries, voice strained as it takes everything in him not to hump his hand like a dog, “don’t think I’m all too interested.” 

“If you want my cock, you work for it,” Johnny replies all too easily, not phased by V’s attempts at controlling the situation. He’s entirely at Silverhand’s mercy here, and he loves to hate it.

V huffs through his nose, moving his fingers back up to continue pumping his cock. His fingers are obscenely wet now, glinting gently in the low light of the apartment. If it was a show he wanted, it’s a show he’s getting. 

“What makes you think I need it? I got plenty of toys.”

“Why else would you be doing what I tell you to? You don’t listen to me any other time.”

V’s got no comeback, yet again, and is simply left awaiting further command. He’s never felt so vulnerable, so on-display and dissected for consumption in his life, and more than one gig he’s taken on in his life has involved stripping or sex work. Hell, he’s even been fucked with Johnny lying dormant as a headmate before. And he adores the feeling of being a mere hunk of meat just as much as he despises it. 

V closes his eyes as he’s pulled into his climax like a ship into a whirlpool, brows furrowed. It’s simply a reflex in response to the stimulation, unable to maintain his defiant eye contact in the face of such a visceral, carnal height of pleasure—and it ceases in an instant as he feels a notably corporeal weight sink just between his legs, dipping the mattress beneath him. It takes a few jostles before it registers that he hadn’t just been hallucinating the other man. 

It makes his stomach feel as though he’s in a car cresting a hill far too quickly, doing somersaults as the notably warm flesh-and-blood hand skirts along his flank. He’s nearly dizzied by arousal as the comparatively cool—though not overwhelmingly so—metal of Johnny’s cybernetic hand tests at the meat of his thigh. Massaging, almost, but not nearly as kind. 

“You think you get to cum without me saying so?”

“My fuckin’ body.”

In this one instance, Johnny knows when to leave well-enough alone. Any other time, he’d be snapping at the leash to break through boundaries, but such a sore spot needs no agitation right now. 

He notices the subtle angling of V’s legs wider at his intrusion, betraying how eager he is in spite of his biting attitude. Playing hard-to-get. Johnny takes the movement as a welcome, and his fingers finally slip into the hot slickness of V’s folds. The slight chill to his digits elicits a shudder from the man beneath him. 

“ _ Cold _ .”

“Quit bitching. Complain again and you won’t get anything,” he returns. His grip tightens on V’s hip and he nods toward the neat little container of V’s vice sitting out-of-place on the shelving at the foot of the bed. “Try me.”

His eyes follow Johnny’s nod readily, and the hunger in them is undeniable. It sets a smirk just so on the rockstar’s lips. 

“You want it. I can see.”

V tears his eyes away from the drug, trying to ignore the automatic calculations filling his head of just how easily could intoxicate himself clear out of his own mind, instead trying to study Johnny’s eyes through the mirror of his sunglasses. Of course Johnny wouldn’t even do him the solid of unfettered connection. 

Just as V opens his mouth, any protest is lacquered over by a half-gasp half-groan as the ridged joints of Johnny’s metallic finger plunges into his tight heat. His hand snaps to grip at the closer of Johnny’s forearms, blunt nails digging at the soft flesh. 

“Fuck,” V exhales. He forces himself to relax into the mattress as the other man adds an additional finger and begins fucking them against his g-spot with pinpoint accuracy. 

Glaring through his lashes, V can’t help the ragged gasps being punched out of him as Johnny fucks—now three—fingers in and out of him, fast and mean. Throwing his head back and groaning, low and wounded like a gutted animal, he instinctively tries to push at the other man’s arm as it quickly becomes a bit too much to handle. 

“Can’t take it?” Johnny sneers, not faltering for a second. All he gets is a pathetic growl, closer to a whine than anything truly demanding dominance. There’s nothing V can do to salvage control, not as Johnny tries to force him open with his fingers, looming over him with a predatory grin. 

Back arching off the bed, his reedy breaths shift to high, whistling notes as Johnny’s other hand comes to work his cock. Already hyper-sensitive from his first finish, the initial touch is heightened tenfold, and each subsequent movement feels like blissful agony as the rockstar starts to mercilessly milk him. 

“C’mon, V,” Johnny coos, leaning in close as V scrambles for purchase on his biceps, “you want your fix so bad, you gotta behave.”

“Fuckin’ bastard,” V starts, eyes screwed shut as he’s so close to that world-rending end that his breath stutters and catches in his throat like a sob. “I—”

Without warning, Johnny slips his hand free, and the loss is enough to rip a broken moan from V’s lips. Bearing down on nothing, all stimulation effectively stripped from his person at the crest of his peak, he turns to growl at the other man for such a wretched action. 

“You god damn—”

Without any grace, Silverhand easily fits his palm around V’s throat and squeezes, fingers securing on his arteries. The words escape him as wheezing, eyes going wide as Johnny simply smirks. There’s a fine understanding that Johnny wasn’t going to do anything  _ too _ dangerously stupid, shown in how V simply doesn’t react. He allows for the air to leave his lungs and his head to swirl as his vision fizzles into darkness at the corners. 

A blatant show of extreme trust that even someone such as Johnny can understand. All his bark, and no bite, V would roll over like a bitch in heat.

The defiant glint in V’s eyes dies with his oxygen supply. Uselessly, he ruts his hips against the air, seeking any friction at all to relieve the profound ache between his legs, only amplified by the resounding emptiness inside his head. Pinching his blood supply and counting in his head, Johnny gives a light jostle like a dog with a toy before he releases and allows V the chance to breathe. 

“You look so stupid,” he puffs, amused with an odd lilt, “nothing going on up there anymore, tough guy?”

V blinks at him, perhaps a little dumbly as the world comes back into focus, before his gaze sharpens. 

“Are you too chickenshit to choke me right?” V says, voice tight and roughened. The question, more thinly-veiled request, makes Johnny quirk a brow at him.

Abrasive as always.

Johnny’s hand immediately clamps down around his throat once more, forcing V’s chin up and causing him to wince as he’s abruptly and beautifully denied any air. A swear spills from his lips, using what little oxygen he had in his lungs as the rockstar teases his cock in tight circles.

Johnny hums, applying more pressure until V’s cheeks turn a dangerous shade of red. Just for a moment. Releasing his hold, he almost tenderly thumbs the blossoming bruises where his fingers just were as V swallows lungfuls of air. Johnny moves his hand away as the man beneath him starts to catch his attitude.

Bringing his hand down, he slaps V’s cunt with enough force to elicit a startled hiccup from the other and a rough flinch. At least he’d opted for the more forgiving human hand rather than his implant. V doesn’t say anything, glaring and panting with that angry blush of his. 

“You like being a dizty hole to fuck, huh?” he jeers before repeating the action, “anything to get your fix.” This time, V can’t contain the weak whimper that spills from his lips as his brows pinch together and his eyes screw shut. One hand comes up to bite his knuckle and with quivering thighs, he cants his hips up in invitation. Long lines of slick trail from his cunt, evidence of how he revels in being debased and humiliated. 

“Think you’re ready for my cock already?”

V can’t even form a coherent sentence. Blood moves thick and sluggish back into his brain, laced through with arousal that pounds into his flesh with each heartbeat. All he can do is lull his head back up at Johnny, mouth hanging open stupidly. 

“Fuck— I— need it, you,” he babbles. V tries to hide his embarrassment by throwing an arm over his face, but Johnny counters and pins the very arm down to the mattress before he can move more than a few inches. 

The few brain cells he can get to spark against each other are fervid, whipped up into a frenzy of desire and cravings for the substance that Silverhand had used to bait him into this situation. He isn’t sure which he needs more at this moment. All of his nerves are alight with  _ wantwantwant _ , each input converging into one indiscernible stream of hunger. 

“Well, who could say no to a dumb little face like that?”

The filth earns him all of a mewl from V. A chuckle bubbles up from the rockstar’s throat, but it’s not humorous. It’s cruel, taking pleasure in seeing his host squirm beneath him. 

There’s no shuffle of clothes necessary before the blunt head of Johnny’s cock is already hot and eager against his inner thigh. V can’t even muster up the willpower to glance down, to watch as it throbs against him, head filled with cotton and  _ need _ . Any charade of dominance is gone—he’s ready to do whatever Johnny wants just to get his fix. 

“Johnny…” he groans. Again, he splays his legs for the man above him. Presenting himself, he’s irresistible; cock flushed a deeper pink and thighs slick with arousal. 

Johnny wouldn’t admit it, not wanting it to go to V’s head, but he’s already aware it’ll be the best fuck he’s had. Being able to tap into his memories, to replay his encounters like porno tapes, V is downright insatiable in bed. Eager to please, in spite of his biting words and stubbornness. 

“What is it, princess?”

V spreads himself with his free hand. 

“Thought you’d have  _ some _ manners.”

“Please…”

“Polite all of the sudden?”

A groan, and V cants his hips up once again. Even the slightest accidental stimulation of his aching cock is electrifying. 

Closing his eyes, rocking against Johnny’s hard length between his legs with unsteady pants, V fails to even notice the other man release his arm and grab the discrete box at the foot of his bed. All too fixated on the rockstar’s cock, committing the feel of it slipping against his cunt to memory and preparing himself for what seems to be a rather impressive length, he’s unaware of his surroundings. So much so that he doesn’t realize Johnny has fetched his spare dose of black lace until it’s pressing against his lips. 

Eyes fluttering open, he tries to find Silverhand’s gaze beneath the dark shades as he permits the end piece between his lips. Familiar, already shocking his system as anticipatory adrenaline floods his veins preemptively, he empties his lungs to spare as much room as possible. 

“Just like that, baby,” Johnny hums, his other hand tilting V’s head up just so, angling him right as he presses down the trigger in two quick motions. He’s seen (and felt) how V tends to huff on the inhalers, a quick one-two with the second drawn out and heavy. 

Letting his eyes flutter shut, V inhales deeply, deep enough to make his ribs ache before the feeling is laved over with the euphoria of the high. No pain, no aches, nothing but nerves keyed-up and sensitive like an open wire. 

Discarded onto the bed above V’s head, empty, Johnny allows him the good graces of letting the high sink in before he does anything else. Eyes half-lidded with pupils blown wide, he stares at Johnny with absolutely nothing behind them. All intelligence knocked out of him, he winces and moans softly as Johnny slides their cocks together, a line of drool already escaping his habitually gaping lips. 

“Should keep you like this,” Johnny muses as he presses the blunt head of his cock against V’s hole. “Stupid and easy. All you know how to do is spread your legs.”

V starts as if he wants to retaliate, but words fail him as Johnny finally,  _ finally _ pushes into him. Instead, he keens in a broken, shy note. 

“At least you’re pretty,” Johnny tuts as he sinks in to the hilt. Almost impossibly tight, V’s body is snug around him, milking him with his walls. The drugs negate the deep ache V should be protesting with Johnny bottomed out, leaving him instead reflexively bearing down around him. 

Trapping V’s hips to the bed, he grinds himself in as deep as he can go, certain that V should be pushing at him and rejecting his size given how he can practically see his length’s outline in the other man’s toned belly. What he gets is the opposite—V groans lowly as his hand comes to rest over the vague bump in hazy awe.

“Shit, V,” Johnny chuckles, “you were made for my cock.”

His partner can only mewl at him, his other hand mindlessly pulling at the hem of his rucked up wifebeater. 

Pulling out until only the tip tugs at V’s hole, Johnny snaps his hips forward and sheathes himself in that perfect heat once more with a satisfied groan. With it, V cries out unabashed, loud enough that it makes Johnny bark a laugh. 

“Want the neighbors to hear you get plowed like a cheap whore?” he taunts as he starts to fuck into him. Deep and  _ hard _ . V’s face burns with his subconscious embarrassment as he can only watch between his legs; almost stupefied at the sight of Johnny’s cock bulging his stomach out with each rough thrust. A dumb smile tugs at his lips, glassy eyes watching the movement. 

“You want me to be mean with you?” His tone is cloying, faux-pleasantness laid on thick as he talks down to V as though he were truly a mindless doll.

“Y-yeah,” V finally manages, twisting his shirt between his fingers as he brings it up to his mouth without thinking. Completely out of it, he doesn’t realize he has his shirt between his teeth until he tries to bite down on his knuckle to stifle himself as Johnny suddenly pitches his hips forward. Filling him with every stroke, he doesn’t waste time building up to a punishing pace before he’s at it.

Gasping as the rockstar takes a firm hold of his legs and splits him open, V crushes his mouth against his fist out of habit to try and stifle the inappropriately loud noises slipping free. 

“C’mon, baby,” Johnny grits, his voice strained as he repressed his own noises if just to drink in the little symphony he's orchestrating with V as his instrument, “let them know how much you like taking it.”

“I— I love—” V tries, tongue lazy in his mouth as the once-overwhelming nerve endings are dulled in a slight tingle, “y—”

“Don’t you dare,” Johnny spits, punctuating with a piercing thrust. The venom in his words makes the too-hot blood thrumming through his veins run cold. Severity in Johnny’s tone disturbs the high for a moment, filling his head with concern that he said something to upset the older man into denying him his orgasm. 

“Love y’er cock,” he all but whispers. A state of emotional hyperarousal is to be expected with the intoxication, but the knife’s edge to his words—reminding him that he  _ truly  _ is nothing more than a hole to fuck to Johnny, and it’s not a mere roleplay—brings a sting to V’s waterline. Being said, the clarity lying dormant under the fog of black lace knows that Silverhand would lord the fact that  _ ‘V cries during sex’ _ over his head for the rest of his miserable existence if he gives in to the urge to cry.

Johnny’s hackles lower as he finally realizes what V’s going for. Submissive, not tender. It sours the mood for Johnny, just for a moment, as he spots the tears pricking at V’s eyes. His hips settle with his length still nestled in his partner. 

A sigh as V pointedly avoids looking him in the face. “I know you do. Take it so good.”

A warm hand comes to smooth over the plane of V’s stomach in a placating gesture. Experienced as he is in bedding just about all types of people, Johnny’s yet to lay someone as peculiar as V. Sure, he’s had his fair share of people intent to get far more intimate with him than he’d like, but never one as tender about it as V. Even in all of his biting sarcasm, V is the only one seemingly patient enough to stomach wading through his emotional unavailability. The only one who can return insults as effortlessly as he lends an ear to him in times of need.

Even more peculiar is the way V gently catches his little finger before his hand slides down to return to his thigh. Johnny has to double-take to ensure that he’s not just seeing things. Almost certainly not a conscious move, seeing how the fog has gathered over V’s eyes again, but every bit as—dare he say it— _ endearing _ as it would be if V were sober. The younger simply holds it for a few moments, until Silverhand slowly begins rolling his hips again and he forgets what he’s doing. 

He’s properly sunken into the drugs now, eyelids half-closed and barely capable of staying open even as he’s clearly responsive to Silverhand’s movements. V clumsily wraps his legs around the other man’s waist, pulling him into the thrusts with opposite force, and the blissed-out look on V’s face could almost be cute if it weren’t foremost maddeningly alluring. 

The smooth slickness of V’s cunt drives Johnny closer and closer to his own peak, as does the accompanying pat of skin and excessive wetness filling the room. His own… interesting existence makes him wonder idly if it would even be possible to cum, independently of V, at least. 

There’s only one way to find out. 

Trapped in the cradle of V’s legs, he uses the security of the other man’s foothold to really double down. Each snap of his hips forces a shrill cry from V’s throat and a resounding creak of the bedsprings as he works himself close. 

V’s fisting the bedsheets and his shirt similarly, in a desperate bid not to be too exuberantly loud as Johnny’s long strokes hit all the right spots. His stomach draws in a tight knot that works up to his throat, squeezing out little whimpers as he begins to tremble mightily. 

“Please,” he slurs, his calves hitching up higher until Johnny takes him under-knee and forces his legs back. Almost folding him in half, knees pushed to his chest as Johnny shifts over him to fuck fast and desperate like a dog, V scrambles for any purchase on his bulletproof vest. Desperate to keep him close, aching for that sense of security in his delusional state. 

“I— I’m—” V  _ squeaks _ , and it’s such a sight to behold. He falls apart with jaw going slack in an empty cry, face a deep shade of pink and streaked with drool and overwhelmed tears he couldn’t prevent. The pinnacle of destruction. 

Johnny doesn’t know what he’s going to do, knowing his host is such a sweet little toy. It’d be a shame if he’d hold out on him after tonight, though by the way he shakes and whines through his orgasm, Johnny doesn’t expect V to go another week before crawling back to him. 

“C’mon, baby,” he pants, fucking him through his peak and well beyond, until V’s steadily crying with little pitching gasps and hiccups dispersed through his cracking moans. The hands grasping the sides of Johnny’s vest attempt to push at him as it becomes pleasured agony, but he’s weak under the influence of the black lace and two orgasms. 

“Johnny,” V moans thickly, “‘s too much.”

“It’s not too much,” the rockstar says. He’s so close, he can feel the heat pooling lead-heavy in his stomach. 

“Johnny—” he tries, before he’s interrupted with a gasp. Silverhand pitches forward, grabbing and pinning V’s wrists to the bed as he buries himself to the hilt in his heat. Groaning, the first true noise he’s allowed himself to make, he pumps his load deep into him in short, stunted bucks. 

“Shit, baby,” he pants, rolling his hips and working himself through the waves. V seems content to take it all. 

Breathing heavily, V looks at him with empty eyes and manages a little lopsided smile as he’s fucked full of Johnny’s cum. So happy to be filled up. 

It makes Johnny scoff, although it’s now a softened sound. Releasing his wrists and sliding his hands down to his stomach, he pets the younger’s belly as they both come down. V’s head still very much swimming in his inebriation, evident in the way he stares deeply into the empty space haloing Johnny.

“You like being my bitch, V?” Johnny hums, smiling down at him. All he gets is an unsteady but still excited nod. 

“Love it,” V murmurs. Sweat- and spit-slicked, he’s bathed in the colored lights of the LEDs almost beautifully. His gaze finally trails back to Johnny, still trapped in the confines of his thighs, and he’s unable to contain the genuine grin that spreads over his features. Perhaps knocked loose by the black lace, or by the rough treatment on Silverhand’s part. As tough as his exterior might be, the younger’s expression is infectious to Johnny. 

“Might have to treat you more often.”

“Y’should.”

An alien warmth in his chest—whether purely a mental construct or actually permitted by his coding, so to speak—blossoms just beneath Johnny’s breastbone. He’d be lying to say that he’d never loved someone else before, but he’d be dead and in the ground before he willingly admitted it. 

“Already are.”

“I’m already what, V?”

“Dead. In the ground. You forget we share a head?”

“Whatever you heard—”

“Not gonna remember it.”

All Johnny can do is sigh. The rush of air kisses V’s cheek. He succumbs to his tired arms, exhausted and shaky from holding himself up as he thoroughly used V, and settles on the mattress beside the other man. Johnny props his head upon his palm, watching as V enjoys his highs.

“You’re something else.”

“Wha?”

“Nothing.”

V shakes his head fondly, unable to shed the stupid smile. A warm laugh, the most genuine that Johnny had heard over his residency in V’s body, treats Silverhand’s ears. 

After a minute of rest, Johnny starts to shift and rise. The sudden alleviation across the mattress rouses V from his stupor, and he doesn’t say anything as he sluggishly looks around for the rockstar, keeping his disappointment mute. There wasn’t much else he expected from Johnny, and that is largely his fault for his, as ever, impeccable affinity for fucking the biggest cases of cut and run known to man.

Sighing, he crosses his arms and throws them over his face, unable to bring himself to care about the now-cool mess of slick and cum coating his thighs and drying to his bedsheets. He felt as though he was simultaneously floating and sinking through the mattress as he grows more and more tired, the adrenaline of their rabid fuck and the drugs wore off. It leaves him in a comfortable state of absolute exhaustion where his entire body feels pleasantly wrung through, although he knows that the following morning will be a nightmare. 

When there are hands on him again, he can only manage a startled noise. His legs are pried apart once more. Lifting his arms to peek, he realizes that Johnny hasn’t dematerialized into the recesses of his subconscious yet, and had only left to retrieve a damp rag to clean the mess he helped make. 

Of course, that makes V break out into a placated grin that spreads that fuzzy warmth back to Johnny’s chest again. Even as he tucks his face away, the smile is obviously tugging at his lips as Johnny finishes up and tosses the sullied rag into his pile of laundry. 

“What?” Johnny says, but it’s not snapping like he expected his voice to come out. Trying to rid the invasive warmth from himself, he tries to separate from the younger, but stubborn legs catch him and keep him still. “You want me to cuddle you?” That perhaps comes across as more unenthusiastic and annoyed that what he really is, but it doesn’t phase V. 

“Yeah.”

Giving a sound of faked exasperation, Johnny gently pats V’s legs and pulls away. 

“Alright, move it,” Johnny instructs even as he manhandles V’s body himself, “stop being a freak and actually use your bedsheets.”

“Anything flat’ll do,” V slurs. He finds Silverhand surprisingly strong as his slackened body is tossed over like it's nothing. Now resting properly on the mattress, the blankets shift up to his shoulders.

“Why’d you even get the whole bed, then?”

“In case I have to act like a human being in front of my lays.”

“I’m not good enough for you to pretend?” Johnny jokes, voice soft. He cards his fingers through the short-cropped hair atop V’s head almost  _ fondly _ . 

The other man shrugs. “Not yet.”

A huffed chuckle through Johnny’s nose, he settles in beside his host. Although not the first and foremost thing he misses about having a corporeal form, he does miss drinking in his partner’s afterglow—a sense of intimacy he hasn’t shared with anyone since Rogue all those years ago. V eagerly takes on that role. 

V is enveloped by warmth and weight that he’d never considered Silverhand could even hold, and sleep is an inevitability. As is the unconscious “I love you,” that floats across their link as effortlessly as a leaf across a pond. Johnny is  _ fucked _ .

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)


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